


Synchronicity

by thekeyholder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Allegory, M/M, POV First Person, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I turn with my right arm extended and he makes a pirouette, his small and soft hand falling perfectly into mine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synchronicity

**Author's Note:**

> The Figure Skating Championships have taken place this week, and I've wanted to write a skating fic for years. Anyway, this was written last night between 1-3 am... many thanks to my friend Laura for looking over it.
> 
> You can take this literally and then it's an AU... but it could also be considered an allegory.
> 
> For full effect, listen to [ the second movement of Mozart's concerto 23](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vne1E6VH23s).
> 
> I really hope you will like this story. :)

It was all spontaneous and intense, like the sun’s light when it suddenly leaves its hideaway from behind the clouds. I open my mouth slightly as I feel his stare on my back, hearing in my head his tender voice counting to the music. I turn with my right arm extended and he makes a pirouette, his small and soft hand falling perfectly into mine. I bring it to my face in adoration and his fingers slide down on my torso to the sounds of the piano that is barely audible. I throw my head back and I could swear I feel his imaginary kisses on my neck, but we turn and for a moment he places his hand on my shoulder and we bow together, his breath hot on my back even through the shirt.

 

I never let his hand go, not because it is the requirement of our dance, but because I don’t think I could bear the loss of his touch. I lead him and he makes another pirouette as he glides closer to me. I can finally have a glimpse at his face – he is completely lost in the concerto, his eyes reflecting the lost memories of golden centuries as he touches my face for a brief moment. I squeeze his shoulder before we turn and I lift him for a spin, the ghost of his sliding fingers burning my neck. The song is melancholic and I imagine it is because I cannot see his face, for he is leading now, his hand warm against the coldness of mine.

 

With an easy step, I slide behind his back and embrace his waist, lifting and turning him towards me, a slight anxiety coiling under my skin as he places his skate on my thigh. I move my hands to his calves and bask in the beauty of his grace, then carefully put him down on the ice. There’s not much time to think about anything else but the next move, though the fierce tightness of his arms around my neck before parting pierces through my concentration. I let go until we perform the synchronisedspins, the unexpected coolness of the skate’s metal reminding me of the times he refused to speak to me.

 

We are performing every move at the exact nanosecond. I am his reflection and he is mine. We lift our arms at the same time and bring them back in the same breath. We are one. I embrace him and he embraces me and we skate together and we spin like in a fairytale, nothing in our way to glory and happiness. My hands touch his waist, bringing our bodies closer, and his hand rests on my nape briefly. I spin him and we finally link our fingers, while the other hand rests on our partner’s shoulder. I imagine waltzing boldly like this till the end of time – which could even come in the next moment, because I would not care anyway.

 

He smiles at me for a moment, then glances at the ice guiltily, because he’s supposed to feel the metaphysical pain Mozart tried to infuse his music with. I have to grin too, and he lolls his head to the left, eyebrows raised playfully. We don’t forget to extend our legs in the meantime, and change positions again, my arm sneaking around his waist. His back is hot and lightly sweaty and I can feel his side moving up and down, in the same rhythm as mine. We waltz again and spin around at the same time – as if I am the moon that is pulled into the gravitational field of his planet.

 

His right hand lets go of my left and then his left is in my right hand. It was very confusing at the beginning, but I could always count on him to know what to do next. He does another pirouette while I spin around him and I catch the perfect angle of his extended arm, offering my hand again and begging for his touch. He takes it gingerly and we skate at a fast pace, our arms moving smoothly up and down as wings, and for a moment the illusion of flying becomes the absolute truth. We slow down with the music and I embrace him for a fleeting moment before the music picks up.

 

The “couple pirouettes” follow, his favourites: I catch his hand and we spin together fast for a moment before he bends to the right and I squat, placing one of my hands on his firm calf and the other on his side. My free leg practically coils around his skating leg, then he changes his position and is now vertical again, only to bend back a second later. I imagine we must offer a delightful sight as we continue with our intricately entwined pirouettes. My heart races as we go to the next move and dance around the rink, showing off once again our synchronised moves.

 

I lift my arm and his fingers slide down on it passionately, before he moves his hands to my ribcage and I mirror his moves, all the while spinning as though we cannot move in another way. The most difficult lift is next and my hands become sweaty. I am nervous, but not because he could easily injure me. However, he always radiates absolute confidence in me, as if I could never be the reason for his fall. His knees are on my knees and I double over his legs as he opens his arms as a sail that finally unfolds in the freedom of the wind.

 

This challenging moment is followed by passionate embraces and his fingers seize locks of my hair almost painfully, but with the maddening intensity of the looks he throws me in when we are alone. He pretends to faint and I catch him, then he leans against me and my right arm is again across his torso, while my left hand caresses his left arm. We separate for short periods, but we always, _always_ , have to go back to each other, even if we are only one step or a whole world away from each other.

 

The impressive acrobatics mean nothing to me as I can’t see his face, just hear his heartbeat in my ear. But the connecting elements, when he looks into my eyes deeply, as if making sure that I will not let him dance alone, those are my favourites and I touch his warm cheek, assuring him that everything is all right. He puts his hand around my neck and I bend my knees for our last pirouettes, lowering myself and watching as the edges of his blade cut the ice deeply. He turns and then I put down one knee on the ice, spinning around him and hugging him to myself after he stands up.

 

For the first time, I hear the voices and the cheers. They think this is the tragic end to the story of our dance: always close, but never truly belonging to each other. My head is pounding with the noise and he looks dazzled – he has already seen in my eyes what I have just realised that I need to do. His knees give in as I pull him down gently against my thigh. I extend my arms, showing that I am not bound any more, and he drags me down fervently against his body. This was not in the script, this was not supposed to happen – I can hear their desperate thoughts in my head. There is utter silence until it’s broken by his soft, relieved laugh and I bend down to kiss him in perfect synchrony to the loving thoughts spinning in his head.


End file.
